


Prideful

by lait_tea1



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Shin Ankoku Ryuu to Hikari no Ken | Fire Emblem: Shadow Dragon, Fire Emblem: Shin Monshou no Nazo | Fire Emblem: New Mystery of the Emblem
Genre: M/M, Nagamas 2020, Norne laughs at Horace, Sickfic, Vomiting, Ymir picks him up... twice, he has a miserable time but also it gets better, the fe11 exclusives are also unlikely friends and hang out together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:13:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28362222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lait_tea1/pseuds/lait_tea1
Summary: Horace skips dinner, wakes up feeling nauseous and everything goes downhill from there. (Well, mostly everything – at least Ymir's there.)
Relationships: Ymir/Horace
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3
Collections: Nagamas Gifts





	Prideful

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dt75Art](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Dt75Art).



> This is my (other) Nagamas gift for @Dt75Art on Twitter! I can't believe Horace has so little content and I just had to write him something, because he's just a great character and I like him a lot – especially after writing him. It also looks like he's gone through a lot of suffering, and I feel bad for the guy, so... uh, I guess I'll just inflict more suffering on him. But hey, it's not all suffering, right? Also, I hope you don't mind that I went for Ymir/Horace, because it's a cute ship and Ymir ended up taking up a large portion of the fic anyway while caring for Horace, so I might as well. I hope you don’t mind I was inspired by some of the artwork you’ve drawn before for the FE11 exclusives as well! (It's not really either of the genres you mentioned, but I hope you like it anyway!)

Horace decided that the bird Norne had hunted for lunch did not agree with him.

‘A rare species of quail’, she’d said, ‘Famous for its tender flesh and unique taste’ – they were fortunate to have shot down a flock of them, especially during this time of year and at such a large quantity. Horace didn’t know much about hunting and game meat, but he was dragged along to help pluck and skin the birds fresh off the forest floor for lunch.

For a unique taste, it was… rather foul, actually. Perhaps it was because he’d never gotten used to the taste of freshly killed game meat, seeing as he’d never had to physically hunt his own food when he lived in Archanea, but it would have been rude to discard the quail just because he didn’t like the taste. They were running low on rations, after all, and they couldn’t afford to be picky.

Plus, even Etzel had eaten the hunk of bird meat with no complaints – Etzel, who was never fond of game meat. Perhaps the tangy, unusual taste was something the dark mage actually liked… and in that case, it would’ve almost been embarrassing to admit his own distaste for the whatever the odd flavour was.

And never mind the others – Ymir, Athena and Norne had dug into their meals with great enthusiasm, to no one’s surprise. Ymir had even made a remark about how the birds Norne had hunted were ‘particularly plump’ and ‘quite delicious’. Horace hadn’t had the heart to disagree, so he’d choked down the rest of the bird (after it had turned mostly black in the fire in hope of trying to coat the sour, tangy taste with char), downed a canteen of water to get the aftertaste out of his mouth and then went on his way.

But now, while staring at the salted meat rations on the plate in front of him, Horace could still feel the bird from lunch heavy in his stomach and the bitter aftertaste clinging to his throat – which was starting to make his head ache by now – and decided he didn’t have an appetite for anything after all.

“Is something the matter?”

Horace nodded in greeting as Ymir sat down on the makeshift bench (a log, graciously cut by Bord... or Cord, it was one of the two) “No, nothing. I’m… fine, thank you–” He lied, then remembered the rations he still had in hand. “Ymir, do you want some?”

Ymir cocked his head, eyebrows raised. “You didn’t finish your dinner?”

“I’m not too hungry today.” Then as an afterthought, because Ymir would most definitely sit him down and attempt to make him eat part of it if he admitted not having eaten anything: “I already had half, but I don’t want to waste food, so I might as well give the rest of my share to someone who’ll need it more.”

Ymir frowned. “You still have to eat to maintain energy for the march tomorrow.”

“I’ll be fine. I still have tomorrow’s breakfast, anyway; I can eat then.”

Besides, food was scarce, since they hadn’t come across a friendly village in a while, and there really was no point in trying to force himself to eat when somebody else likely needed his rations more than he did.

“Well… if you insist, it would be best to offer that to the little ones; they’re growing kids, after all.”

“They seem pretty happy with the rabbits you caught them yesterday.” Horace cast a glance towards where he presumed the Grustian prince and princess were at – his vision was hazy, smudged with the glow of the various campfires scattered about. He couldn’t see the tall knight that usually accompanied the twins, but he presumed they were around somewhere.

“In that case… if you say so,” Ymir said, still sounding doubtful, but as expected, not overly willing to fight over getting free food. Horace took that as an agreement and scraped the strips of meat onto Ymir’s plate with his fork.

Hopefully Ymir wouldn’t notice he hadn’t touched it at all.

“Evenin’!” Norne plopped herself on the log next to Athena with a grin. “Guess who caught something for tonight’s dinner too?”

The sight of the bird dangling between her fingers, its feathers dampened with blood, suddenly hit him with a bout of nausea – a stark and unwelcome reminder of the quail from several hours before. Horace mumbled something that even he couldn’t catch and reached for the cup of watered down wine at his feet.

In hindsight, draining the cup immediately was probably a bad idea; the throbbing in his head was even worse now.

“…weren’t many around tonight since it’s pretty late, so I couldn’t catch any extra for you guys, unfortunately…”

“I think I’m fine with that.” Etzel said, expression neutral. “I’d much prefer something that tastes less like… dirt.”

“Ve don’t understand how you survived this long vithout hunting, but do as you vill.” Athena said.

Ymir slapped Horace on the back with a chortle, nearly knocking the empty cup from his hands. His vision lurched with it. “We should go out hunting tomorrow together, after the march – find something that’ll beat Norne’s quails today. I was thinking a deer, if we can get our hands on one…”

“Just a deer?” Norne scoffed. Her voice was unusually sharp and loud in the fuzzy cotton gathering in Horace’s head. “That’s easy! You know how big those things are? Try picking _five_ quails out of the sky with just a bow!”

“Vrestle and kill a boar vith your bare hands and then ve talk.” Athena muttered.

Etzel made some kind of noise in his throat and looked away. “Or perhaps not… is this what we must talk about during dinner?”

“I’m going back first.” Horace stood up abruptly. His vision swayed with him, and his head started pounding even more.

“Aw, c’mon, is a little talk about hunting and killing animals too much for you?” Norne teased. Horace would’ve said something in retort, but suddenly even talking felt like too much effort and he simply turned and started walking back to his tent.

He nearly stumbled straight into another group’s campfire, much to the loud complaints of the green-haired knight he had almost tripped over. He mumbled some half-hearted apology and kept walking.

His tent was at the furthest reaches of camp. Horace regretted setting it up so far away; the long stumble there felt like a week’s long march to his aching muscles and disoriented state of mind. Somehow, he found his tent amidst all that, and he gratefully collapsed onto his cot.

If anything, at least it didn’t take long to push his pounding headache to one side and drift into a dreamless sleep.

-x-x-x-

Horace woke up feeling like a hurricane had swept through his head – and if it was still going at full force. In short, no better than yesterday.

He hadn’t even had the time to wash up before he’d just passed out, apparently. There was still dirt clinging to his clothes – the ones he had been wearing during yesterday’s flounder through the bushes during their ‘hunt’ – and now to his sheets, he noted with a grimace.

Horace lifted his head and was instantly assaulted by a wave of nausea that nearly swept him over. He flung a hand out and clung to the end of his cot as if that would stop the world from whirling around him.

He muffled a groan and closed his eyes. _Maybe I should’ve eaten something yesterday after all…_

Either way, there wasn’t much he could do now. _Maybe eating some breakfast will make up for skipping dinner yesterday._

He struggled upright again and stumbled through the darkness of his tent, fumbling with his shirt. He tossed that into the pile of clothes he had promised he would eventually wash and dry yesterday, pulled on the rest of his uniform – leaving his armour in a pile on the floor, he’d get to that later after everything stopped spinning – then rolled up his bedroll and stashed whatever was left together to prepare for the march ahead.

And he only had to stop twice during his bouts of nausea…! Though he really did hope it would stop soon, because the cramping that was beginning to take place in his stomach were getting worse.

Nobody had come looking for him yet, though the pale grey light filtering through the gaps signalled that it was early morning, which was about the time breakfast rations were handed out.

He pushed aside his tent flaps, wincing at the bright lights invading his blurry vision, and stumbled out into the chilly morning air.

He’d gotten maybe ten meters away from his tent before he ran directly into somebody.

“People open their eyes when they walk to see where they’re going, Horace.” Ymir sounded amused, catching Horace by the shoulders and taking a step back to give them room. However, his tone instantly changed and his hands tightened on his shoulders. “Are you alright? You’re looking pale.”

Horace hardly caught a word of what he’d said. The collision had made his head hurt – badly – and the nausea that had been churning uneasily in his stomach had risen up again as the world reeled around him.

“Horace? Can you answer me?”

There was saliva pooling at the back of his throat and there was sweat prickling across his skin. He mumbled an affirmation vaguely, only for a particularly sharp pulse of pain to hammer into the back of his head and dizziness to overwhelm him–

He pulled away from Ymir, lurched towards the nearest bush and threw up.

Bile seared his throat and trickled between his lips to unfortunately extinguish whatever chances the next five generations of plant life had at growing at that very spot.

Ymir was at his side the next moment, kneeling by him and brushing back the sweaty strands of hair from his face with a hand, while the other rubbed circles against his back. Horace might’ve appreciated the gesture more if his throat hadn’t decided to make another unholy noise that might’ve been in between a violent cough and a rasping wheeze, leaving him heaving weakly into the dirt.

When his body finally decided that it had enough of convulsing and trying to expel whatever he had eaten last night – ‘nothing’ apparently came up as a thin, filmy green fluid – Ymir wrapped his arms around Horace’s midsection and tugged him back a respectable distance away from his mess.

“Wait a moment, I’ll get you some water.”

Without Ymir’s hands to steady him, Horace slumped back to the ground in a boneless heap.

There was sweat cooling across the back of his neck and forehead, and as a particularly cold breeze whistled through the camp, he shivered. He resisted the urge to curl up right there and then, and managed to prop himself up with his arms in some futile attempt to get up.

 _…gods._ There was a whirlwind of thoughts going through his head – the first, _thank Naga that’s over_ : the nausea and cramps had settled, at the very least, with the dizziness gone now he wasn’t trying to hold himself upright while the world was warping around him. The second: _that was utterly shameful, and why Ymir of all people had to see me like this?_

He didn’t get to spend long wallowing in self-pity, though. Ymir himself returned swiftly, arriving at his side in several long strides with something in hand.

Horace took the offered cup of water with a trembling hand and rinsed out his mouth. The revolting, sour aftertaste still lingered, like the bird which had been his last meal (which was probably the cause of all this, he thought with a grimace), but it was better than nothing.

“I should have known…” Ymir muttered, brow furrowed. “…you did look unwell last night, and leaving so early – I did check on you after, but you were already asleep. I should have paid more attention, though…”

Horace coughed. “It’s–” Then he realised he had nothing to say to that, and ended up mumbling “I apologise that you had to witness that.”

“No, no!” Ymir grabbed him by the shoulders again, then seemed to realise shaking him probably wasn’t a very good idea and let go. “Friends help each other. You don’t have to apologise.”

Then, after a long moment of deliberation, Ymir reached out again, gentler this time, and lifted Horace’s chin with his hands. A single thought went through his head about how small he felt with his face in his palms – then Ymir made something that sounded like a sympathetic noise and brushed his thumbs across the corners of his eyes.

He hadn’t realised his eyes were so watery from the bile burning his throat… how utterly disgraceful. _Naga must really be despising my existence today._

Ymir didn’t seem to notice his internal conflict, and continued talking to him as if nothing odd awas happening whatsoever. “But you should see a cleric before we start marching today.”

Horace opened his mouth.

“You look terrible, and I don’t think you are in any state to march today.” Ymir said bluntly, as if reading his mind.

Horace didn’t doubt that, but hearing Ymir say that was… demoralising, to say the least.

“Come now, let’s get you to the healers before they pack up their tent.” Ymir stood up, regarded Horace’s pitiful state, then leaned down and scooped him up in his arms.

Horace was by no means a small man, but Ymir lifted him like he weighed nothing and began a merry amble towards the centre of the camp. Perhaps it was because Ymir practically dwarfed everyone in size, him included, but–

“W-wait, I can walk, put me down!”

Ymir laughed and kept walking. “You look like a little fawn who has broken its leg. You can see if you can walk after the clerics have a look at you, yes?”

One bruised ego and a drop-off at the entrance of the cleric’s tent later (Horace could only thank Naga that it was still early morning so the whole army wasn’t there to stare at him…), Yuliya put down her bundle of staves on an empty cot and strode up to them.

Ymir had apparently also decided it was necessary for him to accompany Horace inside too, and loomed by the entrance of the tent as if to keep him from running. (Not like he could, at this point.)

“What is it?” Yuliya’s voice cut the air like a knife. Horace winced.

“My friend is sick.” Ymir explained for him – which he was glad for, because already his thoughts were beginning to blur together again alongside his vision. “I believe it started with the loss of appetite, then…”

“Headache, cramps.” Horace croaked, when they turned expectant gazes to him. Ymir nodded. “Yes, that, and then this morning I ran into him and the first thing he did was throw up in the bushes.”

Horace’s face warmed at his brusque description, though he had nothing to say in retort.

Yuliya’s lips curled. “I see. Certainly…” She mumbled something under her breath as she strode directly up to him.

Under what was practically a child’s scrutinising gaze, it was hard to feel anything but ashamed. Yuliya didn’t seem to care much for what he felt, though, circling around him and frowning.

She clicked her tongue and abruptly put a hand to his forehead. She huffed, withdrawing her hand almost at once. “A fever, too. Do you have any injuries that haven’t been attended to lately?”

Horace slowly shook his head.

“Not an infected injury, then. Do you have any idea of the causes, then?”

He felt a little bad about saying it outright, but it wasn’t as if lying to the cleric would do him any favours anyway. “…I think it’s – it’s something I ate yesterday. I didn’t feel that well, after that…”

“Hmph.” Yuliya came back around from her pacing, crossing her arms and coming to a direct stop in front of him. “In that case, it’s likely an illness. It’s not something I can cure with a staff – even if I could, we’re running out of them anyway, and I wouldn’t be using it for something like this. But lucky for you, it sounds like you just ate something bad, so you’re not going to die anytime soon from this anyway.”

If Ymir had been ruffled by what Horace had said earlier about the quail, he didn’t show it. “What can we do, then?”

“At the moment, not really anything. Rest, I’d suppose.” Yuliya pondered for a moment, then squinted at Horace. “Eat something, drink more water. Maybe a village might have medicine for whatever you’re sick with, but we don’t have anything right now.”

Horace groaned.

“If the symptoms are that bad, you should talk to Prince Marth about putting him at the back of the cart with the injured. There are only…” Yuliya spared a glance towards the tent flaps at the back of the tent. “…two people in there, so there should be room.”

Ymir nodded. “Yes, I’d agree. Thank you for your help, Yuliya.”

Her expression seemed to soften a little, and she ran a hand over her face and let out a sigh. “I’m just doing what I can. Now, if there’s nothing else, I need to pack up the rest of the tent, and Marisha–” She scowled, her irritated expression back again, “–is too busy sleeping in to consider helping.”

“I’ll help you with it, then–”

Yuliya waved Ymir off. “No, there’s a specific order for things to go in the convoy and I don’t have time to explain. Just leave it to me, and deal with thi – with your… sick friend, here. I need to clear out this tent and I can’t leave him lying around here.”

Ymir nodded in understanding. “We appreciate it.”

Horace quickly pulled himself to his feet and staggered towards the exit, mumbling his own thanks. Ymir steadied him with a hand around his shoulder, but thankfully did not move to pick him up again. “Let us go back to our campfire spot for now for breakfast, then I’ll speak to Prince Marth.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners with amusement. “You got up rather quickly, though. Is being carried really that bad? There could be worse things. I could have carried you around like a sack of flour instead, yes?”

Horace grimaced. “I’d rather not.”

_I’ve had enough of that to last me an entire lifetime._

-x-x-x-

Ymir made him eat at the very least half of his breakfast rations before the march, despite his continued lack of appetite. Etzel made no comment on his dishevelled appearance, though Athena was nowhere as mindful and started prodding him with questions before Ymir stepped in.

Horace also didn’t have the energy to argue against being left at the back of the convoy like Yuliya had recommended. It was a dark, windowless caravan; already, there appeared to be someone passed out in a bundle of blankets on the floor, bandages concealing most of their features. Its other inhabitant was a tall man hunched over in the corner in an almost comical fashion, linen bandages peeking out from beneath the mask over his eyes and another set around the splint on his wrist.

It also smelled faintly of blood, as if somebody had attempted to scrub it out of the wood once too many times, and mostly of burnt lavender. The two mixed together to form some kind of off-putting perfume.

His head was throbbing again. Horace collapsed against the other side of the caravan, sinking to the floor and closing his eyes.

Trying to will the pain away did nothing, so he settled for leaning against the wall and trying to get comfortable. _Maybe I should just sleep while I can…_

-x-x-x-

As it turned out, sleeping at the back of a horse-pulled cart was incredibly difficult.

Horace’s head thudded against the wall with every bump in the road. Not only that, but he was feeling nauseous again – he’d never been one to get motion sick, but with the entire cart rattling his brain in his skull, alongside his lurching vision and the stuffy warmth of the cart, it was simply miserable.

He’d ended up curled on his side facing the wall with his eyes shut tight in some attempt to forget about his surroundings, but sleep continued to evade him.

His stomach churned with every lurch of the caravan. Sweat plastered his hair to his face and his clothes to his skin, though he hadn’t had the strength or energy to even shrug off his waistcoat. Even moving a limb caused his nausea to rise up again, and he did not want to repeat another episode of this morning’s misery – especially since there were no windows.

He groaned wretchedly and closed his eyes again, desperately willing for his torment to end.

-x-x-x-

At some point, he must’ve drifted into a delirious state of half-unconsciousness, because when he opened his eyes again, the doors at the back of the caravan were open and the sky was a dusty purple.

His head felt like it had been stuffed with wool, and there was a spot on his forehead that he was near certain was bruising, but the fresh air was wonderfully refreshing and welcome. He’d managed to peel himself away from the wall and sit up, back creaking in protest, only for a wave of nausea to crash over him.

“Hey, sleepyhead! Had a nice nap while the rest of us were out marching, huh?” That was Norne’s voice – light and cheery despite her words, and sounding too happy for how wretched he felt. “It’s time for dinner! Or are you going to sleep through that too?”

“Don’t be so rough on him, he was pretty sick earlier.” Ymir’s voice was a lot nicer to the fuzzy haze settling over his ears like a blanket.

“Though… you still have to get up at some point to eat.” Ymir stepped into the cart, blocking most of the light filtering in through the doorway. The wheels creaked as he made his way over to where Horace was sitting. “Can you still stand up?”

Horace tried to nod but instantly his vision lurched downwards. His body compensated for this by promptly having his head tip back and slam directly into the wall.

“Oh…” Ymir made a sound that was half sympathetic and half amused. Then, for the second time that day, Ymir scooped him up in his arms.

Thankfully, it was only to back out of the caravan and then deposit him on the floor. Norne was giggling – Horace tried to shoot her a glare, but caught his reflection in the gleam of her pauldron and was horrified to see how pathetic he looked: face pallid, dark shadows beneath his eyes, hair matted yet somehow sticking up everywhere, and yes, there was a noticeable bruise on his forehead.

“Stop laughing – he’s sick, Norne.” Ymir scolded.

She muffled her snickering behind a hand. “Sorry, sorry! Just never thought I’d – I’d see something like that, is all.”

“It’s not funny.” He muttered, and his voice came out in a hoarse rasp. Horace cleared his throat with a grimace and suddenly realised how hungry and parched he was.

Ymir seemed to notice this, and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll get you some water in a moment. Just sit tight with Norne – Athena’s setting up the campfire right now, and Etzel was kind enough to help you set up your tent as well.”

Horace managed a weak, lopsided smile. “…thank you.”

They watched him lumber away toward the collection of tents being unfolded on the wide stretch of grassy land over the slope.

“So!” Norne chirped, still grinning.

Horace sighed and ran a hand across his face. “Can we just go sit down? I’m tired.”

His entire body was aching despite spending the entire journey sitting – or lying – down. And the fresh air did clear his head, at least a little, but he honestly didn’t trust himself to stay standing upright for much longer.

“Tired? We were the ones marching – how are _you_ tired?” Norne cried, sounding almost offended, but obliged and grabbed his arm. “Fine, fine, let’s go find Athena. Then I’m going to go see if I can hunt something, maybe a nice partridge or quail to fill our bellies–”

Perhaps it was the illness that was making him a lot less tactful, or maybe he was just too tired to deal with the consequences of his own words. “Please leave me out of this. It was your lunch the first time that’s causing all of this…”

“My lunch…?” Norne squinted at him. Then her eyes widened and she abruptly slapped a hand over her mouth. “Wait, wait, you mean–?”

“…what?” Horace squinted back.

“Oh. Ohh, I see.” Norne began to chuckle nervously, though Horace couldn’t find anything funny about what he had said. She chewed on a nail and finally turned back to him, though her eyes were now pinned firmly to her shoes. “Well, well… I’m guessing you’re talkin’ about – well, ya know, uh, the quails I shot down yesterday?”

“A little too well…”

“Yeah, so, uh, that.” Norne fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve. “I _thought_ one of them kinda smelled funny, maybe it was a little sick when it died or a little rotten on the inside, but when I looked back to check you guys had already sliced up the birds and I couldn’t even tell which was which. So…”

“…you knew.”

“Hey, I didn’t _know_ , I just suspected!” She protested, flailing her arms. “But it was too good of a haul to say anything about it, so I just kinda… put it to the back of my mind? Forgot? I mean, if something was spoiled, then _somebody_ would say something when they ate it, right?”

“You mean it’s not meant to taste like…” Horace wasn’t sure how to explain _what_ he had eaten that day, but now that he thought about it, a ‘unique taste’ probably didn’t mean… completely inedible, for that matter.

 _And this could’ve been completely avoided if I had just swallowed my pride and admitted something was off with my piece… I thought everybody was just fine with eating that quail, and it was just me who couldn’t stand it, but it was just–_ Horace heaved a sigh. There wasn’t even anyone to blame but himself for all the misery he had gone through.

They finally picked their way through the collection of campfires being set up to where Athena was crouched, tending to a flame.

“Ah, you’re back.”

There were no logs this time, at least not yet, so Horace lowered himself to the floor to sit.

“We found out the issue with Horace here.” Norne said, crouching down as well. “The quails we had yesterday – at least one of them was kinda rotten or something, and Horace ate the thing without telling anyone about it.”

“I didn’t know it wasn’t meant to taste like that…” Talking about the bird was enough to make him feel sick again, so he sighed and kept his mouth shut.

“Rotten prey… yes, ve see the problem.” Athena tossed the stick she was holding into the fire. “Feeding on tainted flesh… hmph, stupid manchild. Why do such a thing?”

Thankfully, Ymir and Etzel returned rather quickly, stopping their conversation about him in its tracks.

“We brought food.” Etzel passed Horace a plate, then another two to Norne and Athena.

“Aw, thanks!” Norne beamed, immediately digging into the hunk of bread.

Ymir deposited the logs he was carrying over his shoulder on the ground, using his foot to prod them into position. Deeming it adequate, he plopped down on one end of a log and offered Horace a hand, pulling him up to sit on the other end of the log.

“Ah, I nearly forgot.” Ymir tossed something into his lap. “Here, water.”

Horace nodded in gratitude. He took a sip and only realised he had finished half the canteen when he pulled it away from his lips; the coolness of it trickling down his throat did clear his head, though, and whatever was left of his earlier headache had been pushed to the back of his mind by the brisk breeze.

“Feeling better?” Ymir asked.

“Yes – at the very least, I am glad the worst of it seems to have passed.”

“Good. That’s… good.” They sat in silence for a moment, Norne’s chatter filling up the air in between them.

“If you feel unwell next time, you should say so earlier. You worried me tremendously this morning.” Ymir said. He didn’t sound stern – more… solemn, perhaps. The usual, bright gleam of his eyes seemed dimmer, more downcast than usual.

 _And… I’m the cause of that?_ Horace pushed down that prickling sensation in his chest. “I apologise for that… I only thought it was a passing spell.” And, of course, an illness wasn’t the worst thing that had happened to him – they were soldiers in war, after all. An illness was rarely something that people worried about unless it killed them.

The creases in Ymir’s brow deepened. “Either way… you should have told me that you felt ill last night.”

“I didn’t want to worry you.” Even as the words left his mouth, he realised he was already contradicting himself – and the frown Ymir sent his way wad already making his heart sink.

“Didn’t want me to worry? You worry me when you don’t tell me things. Like what happened this morning.” Ymir shot back. It was the first time Horace had seen the man angry – well, angry at someone that wasn’t the enemy.

Horace sighed, already knowing he had lost the fight. And, besides, seeing Ymir, who was usually so cheerful and carefree, angry at him was… not something he enjoyed.

“We are friends, aren’t we? You’ve gotta let me worry for you then. It’s my responsibility to care for my friends.” Ymir patted him on the back, his grave expression fading. “So when you need help, you ask, alright?”

“I suppose…” At Ymir’s pointed look, he sighed and nodded. “…yes, next time I will.”

“Good.” Ymir chuckled warmly. “Then make sure you eat now and rest lots, so you are well enough to march with us as soon as possible. While I can hold my own against an army, sure, it’s not the same without you watching my flank. Got it?”

Horace nodded in response.

Satisfied, Ymir finally turned his attention away from him to focus on his meal.

Horace rested his plate on his knees and stared into the fire. Red and gold warmth played across the shifting shadows, familiar and comforting, almost enough to make him completely forget about the headaches and sickness that had plagued him at this very time last night.

He glanced to his left. The firelight illuminated Ymir’s face, catching the light of his eyes; his gaze might’ve lingered for just a little too long, because Ymir turned to him in the midst of conversing with Norne and and beamed. “Ah, yes, I did say we would go hunting for deer together, yesterday – Norne is getting quite cocky about her catch yesterday, but I am certain we can find something that will be much more filling and delicious.”

“Hey, this is only the third time I’ve talked about it! Er, maybe fourth? But still, it’s not that much! Certainly not arrogant, or cocky, or whatever…!”

Ymir chuckled at Norne’s protests. “It is impressive, I will admit. But just wait – we have much of tomorrow to hunt, and the little ones have been eager for fresh venison.” He turned back to Horace. “If you’re feeling better, how about joining me on my hunt tomorrow?”

Norne stuck out her tongue at him from where she was sitting behind Ymir.

“I’d like that,” Horace said, ignoring the archer and offering Ymir a half-smile of his own. “I may be a little rusty with the bow, but if you do not mind…”

“Of course not!” Ymir’s broad grin was infectious. “We’ll practice by shooting the deer – it’ll be hitting two birds with one stone. We’ll bring back a feast for the army together.”

The flames of their campfire, blazing bright and hot, warmed his face and made it just a little hard to breathe.

 _I’m glad to have people who I can rely on here… perhaps even a little more than that._ Horace put down his plate and reached for his canteen of water, letting his gaze flit over to Ymir for just a fleeting second. _And… it’s nice to be cared for, too._


End file.
